


Steady Now

by the_math



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Hannibal, Forced Orgasm, Hannibal whump, Hannibros, M/M, Orgasm Denial, is now a tag, it's all bad, strangulation via hanging, taken liberties concerning Hannibal's childhood, then it's good, unless you like bad things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_math/pseuds/the_math
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a fill for the beloved, glorious kink meme. The prompt can be found here: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/3819.html?thread=6716395#cmt6716395</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steady Now

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibru can be described as OOC in this. I see it that way. Still, it is the OP (and myself) that I was aiming to please.

“Did you kill that judge?”

The day was not one that would end in being filed away in the memory bank as one of Hannibal Lecter’s better ones. Not mitigating the matter in the least, here the nurse was, telling Hannibal, of all people, how eye dilation worked as the doctor did his best not to choke on the noose about his neck or stumble off of the wobbling bucket under his feet, his biceps and forearms taped tightly to what curious fingers found to be a wooden stick or bar - not unlike one you‘d find on a broom - that lay across the backs of his shoulder blades at just the right length. Crucified for all his sins. Someone somewhere might refer to it as sacrilege; Hannibal only found the whole thing both efficient and incredibly rude. After all, he’d done nothing to offend this eager swine. Will’s little wild card’s plans tonight had best be to kill Hannibal, lest he take his revenge - one that would surely end in this secret admirer‘s painful - very, very painful - demise. 

Dilation going as expected and confirming Hannibal‘s identity, the nurse’s seemingly permanent smirk spread wide in excitement and pride. What a difference from the reaction typical of those who discovered what lay beneath Dr. Lecter's human exterior. Unfulfilling and embarrassing, to say the least. For Hannibal anyway. And he felt every well hidden bit of it. Will had been lying to him, and Hannibal hadn’t even seen it. Of course he had been curious about it, but never sure. He’d never known Will to be so in control - expressions and inflections honed to such a degree that enabled him to use them as weapons. Hannibal had thought himself a master of all natural betrayals of the bodily kind. He wished he could express his own pride over what Will had become, but things weren’t exactly going his way at the moment and his current company had apparently smiled his way out of Hannibal’s periphery to somewhere behind him. A moment later, the bucket was kicked out from under him. The rope went taut with holding his weight, and Hannibal kicked his feet uselessly - the only movement his state allowed - as he lost the ability to breathe and, a short time later, consciousness.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Hannibal’s body hit the floor with a hard splat. Matthew Brown looked down at his prey, the favor he would do for his fellow hawk in mind. The Chesapeake Ripper lay before him prone; alive? A sudden intake of breath audible in the silence. He yet lived. The man with a face of no obvious tells and never-ending pits for eyes. A devil in his own right. Will’s reason for being imprisoned and nearly executed. So Matthew would be an executioner on Will‘s behalf. His personal agent. _His friend_ , he thought, watching Hannibal’s breaths take on a peaceful rhythm. It would be done. Tonight. But perhaps he had time for a bit of extracurricular fun. Matthew would delight in taking what he could from the devil himself. It would be his pleasure.

Yes. He would make time. Preparations would have to be made quickly though, so he began.

Removing the bathing suit from Hannibal’s limp form, Matthew was presented with a lovely view of Hannibal’s moderately impressive semi-erect, uncircumcised cock. Who said asphyxiation couldn’t be fun? “Normals” just didn’t have it in them to enjoy themselves as much as the ones they deemed mentally disturbed, and enjoy himself Matthew would. Pulling his bag of tricks up from the lower level of the shower, he removed a second bar - shorter but otherwise quite similar to the one keeping Hannibal’s arms restrained - and a large roll of tape.

 

\--------------------------------------

 

Hannibal coughed into the air harshly as a hand slapped his cheeks in a crude attempt at rousing him. Bleary eyes glanced about, confused and perhaps a bit desperate to make sense of what exactly was going on. The memory of being hanged and his final acceptance of what would surely be his death bounced around in his mind as his more or less controlled coughing fit quieted. His fingers searched calmly but curiously, touching the cold floor and his arms strained once, twice before he recalled why they could not be brought up to protect his face from being struck. Laying on his back, just as bound as he’d been prior to his hanging, he grimaced softly at the ceiling and swallowed down the final urges to cough the gritty feeling from his throat.

“Come on.” Another stinging slap. “That’s it, Doc. You’re not dead yet. Wake up.”

Hannibal winced softly at the ache associated with each breath he took, and focused on the blurry face above him until it evened out. Will’s rude “friend” stared back curiously, impatience swallowing up the rest of his expression.

“A change of heart?” Dr. Lecter rasped unevenly, - the sound of it highly bothersome at best - as he glanced down at himself, taking note of his nude state. That couldn’t be good, he mused. No better was the bar of roughly two feet in length taped between his ankles, keeping his legs spread at an angle that meant there would be no protecting his privates in any way, shape or form. His mouth fell slightly open of its own accord. Definitely more than highly bothersome, that, and nothing to be done about it.

The orderly huffed out a short laugh as though Hannibal had made absurd claim.

“Something like that, sure,” he replied. “Sore throat?”

It wasn’t often someone made jokes at Hannibal’s expense. Being put in such a degrading situation was yet another new and unwelcome experience. Deciding to spare himself any further indignity, he avoided taking the bait and instead kept his mouth shut, his gaze firm on the sly blue eyes and smirk almost happily daring him for a response. Lecter gave himself a moment to visualize biting those lips clean off Mr. Orderly’s face. The blood would flow beautifully down both of their bodies, and, yes, he could even hear the resulting screams that would echo wonderfully within the space of the washroom. Eyes far away from their body’s reality, Hannibal felt satisfied and at peace.

“That’s enough of that.” And if the words didn’t pull Hannibal from his imagination, the unfortunately familiar feel of the unforgiving noose tightening around his neck certainly did. Quite literally. Matthew pulled the rope, forcing the unprepared and now choking doctor awkwardly onto parted knees before heaving him the rest of the way onto his feet. When there was just enough give so that Hannibal could just manage to breathe while standing flat on his spread feet, the nurse apparently secured to it whatever he’d had it knotted to earlier.

Exposed. In a word, that was how Hannibal Lecter felt. Exposed without his consent and at the mercy of someone he honestly knew nothing of outside of his place of employment. It wasn’t difficult for a mind such as the good doctor’s to deduce what more violations he might incur in the very near future. As far as he knew, the only other soul who knew about what was happening to him was one Will Graham. His would-be friend, had his plan gone perfectly. It would’ve saddened him if not for the ogling eyes of the sexual sadist and what would happen to him sickening him so completely. No one would stop it from happening either, he thought, miserably.

“You do take care of yourself, Doc,” Matthew cooed. “Let’s see what else I can get out of you.”

Before the orderly could take a step, Hannibal tried his hand at getting into the young man’s head.

“Is there…something you hope to gain from this?” he forced himself to ask, keeping curious eyes on the nurse’s own. “Will Graham at your side?” he asked, his voice like grit in his throat, and followed it up with a rasping, choked scoff or huff of laughter. “I can assure you…you’re not his type..” his Adam’s apple worked to swallow down what threatened to be a coughing fit before he continued, “…yet.” Hannibal was being nothing if not sincere. The orderly appeared to consider his words before turning his head and raising an eyebrow at Dr. Lecter, giving him a side eye stare.

“Allow me to venture a guess: you can change that, right? You‘ll give me a two-for-one deal?” Sarcasm. Hannibal let his gaze fall to the floor in defeat, drops of sweat dripping from the damp hair that hung over his forehead. “Yeah. Not interested in your help, Doctor.”

"Suit yourself," Hannibal rasped.

"I always do."

With that, he watched dark eyes close as he took the few steps necessary to make his way behind Hannibal’s defenseless form. Matthew admired the Ripper's soft but firm ass with his hands. To his credit, Hannibal only tensed for a split second, but Brown was sure he could force Dr. Lecter to be more receptive to his touch. Snaking an arm around to Hannibal's front, he grasped the man's limp cock in his sure hand and heard The Ripper nearly choke in swallowing down a small (scared?) noise of surprise. _That's right_ , he thought, _you better not move if you like breathing_. Clearly, Lecter got the same idea because he shifted shakily to stand as tall as he could and did his best to maintain that height. Much better. How exciting to have found an exploitable weakness in the man who supposedly had none, in the renowned psychiatrist who tortured, maimed, killed and ate his fellow man in his spare time. As it turned out, even the strongest of walls could crumble and break. Time or effort - one or the other saw to that. Beaming devilishly with sharp teeth and pride, Matthew took a stab at effort and began vigorously jerking the doctor off until he felt the heating flesh begin to harden slowly but surely, Hannibal quivering now and then with not quite unsuppressed horror and shame. Listening intently, he could hear small gasps of breath as his victim futilely fought his body for control over its reactions. _Time **and** effort_ , he thought.

Hannibal Lecter did not imagine he would be glad for much tonight, but when he felt a hand wrap itself around his manhood, he was indeed glad to find that when his closed eyes snapped open, they weren't greeted with another's. He did not think he could bare anyone witnessing whatever expression he wore - indignant, horrified, terrified? Not knowing, for once, was infinitely better. The purpose of the spreader made itself known when his legs tried and failed to close of their own volition in a sad attempt at keeping his body from further violation and, in turn, his mind from utter devastation. Moving, though, was not a privilege available to him. He had to make a conscious effort to stand as upright as possible despite the hand working over his member forcefully, painfully and without a hitch. His breathing, however, was anything but without catches. A growing, long forgotten, child-like fear crept upon him, keeping from him the entire feeling of shame toward his body's responses and the sounds he couldn't keep hidden even though he was desperate to. He could feel himself getting harder as the force of friction continued. Body shivering as disgusting waves of pleasure washed over him, his face burned with the indignity of it all. For a moment the jerking stopped and Hannibal nearly forgot himself and let his posture sag. A second hand came around the other side of him and wrapped itself about the tip of his prick, proceeding to pull the foreskin away before the stroking continued with renewed ferocity - close attention paid to the underside of the reddened head. Hannibal choked on a breathy moan, eyes squeezed shut, clenched teeth bared to the room for a beat as his throat strained to keep down humiliating sounds that demanded release. Within a minute - maybe two - control of his body was impossible to maintain. He was so hard he couldn't stop the quaking of his thighs and hips. Rapid gulps of air came and left him in wheezes and gags when the hated friction vanished.

Matthew heard Hannibal's version of a relieved moan as he came around to see the result of his ministrations, looking Hannibal up and down with an approving half smile playing on his lips. Dr. Lecter's cock looked agonizingly hard, the tip glistening in its arousal. A stiff slap to the head produced a sound he would forever cherish. The small cry would replay in his mind until the end of time, at times being the last sound he thought of before drifting off into dreams of tonight's events. In real time, he huffed out a noise of approval and put on a look of sympathy at Hannibal's sad, flushed, tired face. Brown's expression the doctor would never see, because it was clear he still hadn't given up trying his hand at closing as much of himself off from the whole experience as he could. Some conversation might help there, Brown thought.

"Looks like we both enjoyed that," Matthew commented, putting a hand to the sweaty, hair-covered and heaving chest before him, "eh, Doc? What do you say we 'kick it up a notch'?"

When Hannibal's response was more of the same - closed eyes lined with apprehension, heavy breathing - Matthew rolled his eyes, bored.

"Not an Emeril kinda guy, are ya?" 

Nothing.

"Nothing, Doctor? You see, because before, I thought you had so much to say. I need to be able to hold a conversation with a fella if we're gonna be friends."

At that, Hannibal did open his eyes, but not to embrace the offer of pseudo conversation. The hate was pure, the rage primal. The battle they could have would, without question, be to the death. So he wouldn't play along. _Fine_ , Matthew thought, with a light shrug of a shoulder.

"It's not that you strike me as the kinda guy to bite at cheap lures, it's just that...in your predicament... Well, maybe you're just not the type to prolong the inevitable no matter what," Brown observed. Looking down at the doctor's now softening cock, "Or maybe I just struck a nerve."

Hannibal stared down at the wet floor and let his mind out for some pretend fresh air. He imagined having Jack over for dinner. No, Will. He would gain for Will his release from Chilton's Mickey Mousey hospital and either invite him over or just wait for him to show up on his own. They would discuss everything necessary to resuscitate their friendship over bowls of Beuschel, courtesy of their now mutual acquaintance. In the scenario, Will eyed the perfect bowl of stew and frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hannibal's mind surfaced from its comfortable hiding place and he felt more than heard himself cry out. The stabbing pain he felt in his backside was a foreign one. 

"So, you _can_ feel it, " the orderly chuckled. He'd haphazardly shoved at least two fingers into Hannibal's rectum and quickly started working the orifice open without the slightest trace of care. Lecter could feel tissue tear, the burn increasing by the second. "You'll have to forgive me in my haste, of course. The blood serves a purpose. You know how it is," he grunted as Hannibal felt him shove the digits in further, hitting Hannibal's prostate unintentionally. A short lived whine sounded in an unacceptable pitch at the unbelievable sensation. "Actually," the nurse continued, "maybe you don't. From the look and sounds of things, you haven't done this before. Can't tell you I'll be gentle," he informed.

The orderly removed his fingers from Hannibal's body and put both hands on the doctor's hips, and as it turned out, Hannibal _could_ feel apprehension. Strongly. There was no way to prepare, no way to really brace himself for the impact of reality - this sick, worthless, useless walking abortion of a human being was going to rape him and he'd just have to accept it, feel it, weather it. Let it happen. Fleeting scrambled thoughts of how he'd be able to deal with this if he survived the night were ripped away like a loose page from a flimsy notepad when he felt the blunt head of the nurse's erection shove into him. Hannibal's face screwed up in miserable pain, his breath thrown for a loop, and a second thrust proved that the guy hadn't gotten anywhere near all the way in on his first try. The pain honestly shocked him, and in no time at all, he broke out in a cold sweat as nausea washed over him. A third thrust later, he could feel the blood running down his legs. Hannibal's pained whimpers sounded like a small, short, pitiful growls, his teeth bared and clenched in a grimace as the orderly found a rough pace he was comfortable with.

"I'll do you a solid, Doc," he breathed.

Dr. Lecter felt the noose loosen just so much before an arm came around to press against his throat and the force of pounding reached a new high and found that dreaded bundle of nerves, leaving him nearly gagging on his own tongue. The impacts of pleasure were unlike anything, and it horrified him because, in spite of the excruciating pain and humiliation, Hannibal had found a small mercy in that the combination kept his manhood limp with utter disinterest. A masochist he was not, and so it was quite literally the one thing he could count on himself for throughout the abuse - he would find no pleasure in his own rape. Since escaping it was not an option, he would endure it in as composed a nature as his body and mind allowed. Yes, it would prove devastating in its horror and demeaning nature, but he'd have the tiny victory to his name before death. He'd held onto it, treasured it in the parts of his mind not overburdened with suffering and shame, but now... Now, he was struggling, eyes wild with anger and fear, trying to twist out of the grip the orderly had on him because losing that one comfort would be too much to bare. A stray thought suggested to him that death would be preferable, and he didn't have the time to figure out whether or not he believed it, but the choking his movements brought on did nothing to calm him. Even when the thrusting stopped, he still fought for his last morsel of pride, but then the noose tightened and no air was getting through. His instinct to survive kicked in and he quieted, eyes watering and straining, and opening his mouth for a breath he still couldn't take as he swayed on shaking legs.

"Hey. You gonna behave now?" Matthew asked. If he honestly expected an answer of any sort, Hannibal was in no state to give one. Bound and held as he was, Hannibal hardly managed to continue to keep from shaking as his vision darkened. "Alright then." And Lecter's body sagged, gasping and gulping and coughing as his unnaturally purpled face regained some of its original tone. Matthew decided it preferable to forgo the entire choking side of things for the time being. The rope would be there should he change his mind, in any case. "You're alright," Brown soothed the heaving man darkly, bringing a hand up to grip Hannibal's jaw and turn the doctor's face so he could see at least part of it. He watched a single crystalline tear make its way down the smooth leathery face, undoubtedly a result of either the choking or the coughing fit. _Still just as enjoyable_ , he thought, wiping it away with a thumb. Stood the way he was, Lecter lost some of his height, putting him at just a couple of inches shorter than Matthew, allowing him to look down on Hannibal both figuratively and literally. He felt all the more powerful to know he had forced this upon The Ripper himself. The Chesapeake Ripper brought so low, forced into a situation Matthew's hand had seen fit to put him in, forced into being no more than a simple route to a basic pleasure. _The goddamn ever elusive Ripper himself turned common rape victim_ , Matthew thought with no small amount of giddiness.

"What the hell was all that about?" the orderly murmured into Hannibal's ear, chuckling lightly, as though sharing an intimate joke. "Was I doing it wrong? Outta practice, I guess." Matthew regarded where he and Hannibal were still connected and swiftly pulled himself out of Hannibal then and shoved two fingers, finding the doctor's prostate in record time and working it over harshly. Lecter's cock grew hard and softened numerous times, even formed a small pearl at the slit before Matthew gave up on that and resumed his initial molestation - jerking the doctor off.

Hannibal grew stiff rather immediately much to his dismay. He bent his head forward and slammed his eyes shut, wincing and vaguely baring his teeth every now and then as the rough treatment dished out its fair share of pain along with the blinding pleasure. _It would be fine - coming like this_ , ran through his head a few times. _More acceptable. Just as long as - **ah!** \- you don't come with his_ \-- he could feel his face burn, unable to swallow down what he supposed was fear-- _fucking dick in you_. His eloquence had taken a hike, juvenile words pulling up to sit in its absence. Loathe to recall but blessed with a fine memory, his vivid recollections saw him as a child again, leaving him reliving those feelings all over again - small, helpless, frightened, ashamed, exposed, broken and yet, still accepting of whatever god's plan for him was. Not so much that last one anymore. The relationship he had with his God was nothing if not rivalrous. Hannibal only wished he could deal death out as easily. No matter. With his works of art, Hannibal prided himself on being more creative anyway, and things would only get worse from this day forward because here he was, fated to suffer this indignity as an adult as well. His body writhed and he tensed, nearly coming right then, before a tight fist squeezed the head of his penis, making him whine in agony through clenched teeth and down-turned lip corners. He was a picture of poorly suppressed terrified misery because he knew what would happen, he knew why the orderly hadn't allowed him his release.

Matthew squeezed the doctor's shaft cruelly, smiling with a satisfaction that grew when Hannibal voiced his discomfort. "Apologies, Doc, but I think I know what needs to happen right now to make this extra memorable for... Well, for you mostly, but also for whoever finds you and for whoever reads about you. If the media gets to the scene of the crime first, who's to say what even the readers will find most memorable about you. 'S a good ending for you," he spoke - kindly, for the most part. "Anyway, I think so. I think it will be."

Hannibal wished he hadn't gone swimming at all, wished he'd had a pool built within the safety of his own walls. He winced, blinking tears from both eyes, when the nurse shoved back inside him and grabbed his slowly dying erection to pump him to full hardness again. _No, no, stop, please, pleasenotagain_ , his mind begged desperately in a deafening silent prayer. Nasty kicks to an already defeated man lay in the fact that the only thing he could hear over his inner screams were the broken sounds betraying his broken mind coming from his completely disrobed and disassembled person suit. It would take the finest seam work to mend this tattered and torn ensemble into something with any value, let alone back into its original state - an impossibility without a mildly generous helping of time. Stitching patterns, he knew much about. It just took him a while to perform the more intricate patterns without a completely steady hand.

When Dr. Lecter came, Matthew could feel the man's dick pulse wildly in his hand. He'd put his face right up against Lecter's - no reason to doubt the sincerity of the doctor's ruined appearance - and breathed in the tearful whine-turned-sob that eked its way from Hannibal's very soul. Cannibalism on a whole new level? Matthew snorted happily and continued to simultaneously pound into Hannibal's prostate and jerk him off. He giggled, storing away in his mind the adorable pained keens and endearing whimpers, varied in pitch, that he could hear alongside stuttering sniffles. In under a minute, Brown found his own ecstasy, tensing and getting every last thrust he could from it, he wiped at Hannibal's eyes with the hand he'd jerked the doctor off with. "There, there," he whispered in a perfect mockery of comfort, now petting a tear-stained cheek, adoring it when Hannibal actually leaned into the proffered soothing touch. "Everything's gonna be just fine now, Doc," he lied, slipping out of Hannibal and moving to face the broken man. Matthew took it all in; the therapist was still flushed down to his shoulders, sniffling - the only audible proof that he was crying - and trying to hold back tears that wouldn't stop. Crying, his lips stretched beautifully across teeth that were just visible on either side of his lips' center where they met. His nose and eyelids shone and burned with the release of emotions of the heartbreaking and heartbroken variety, lips quivering in earnest to keep the grimace that continued to appear and disappear from his face, and Matthew is sure he can picture Dr. Hannibal Lecter as a boy. "It shouldn't be possible - how undeserving of this anyone in the world would believe you are right now, how pathetic you really look," he admired. The sight was breathtaking.

"Look at me." Hannibal obeyed the command with a minute facial flinch of apprehension over his thoroughly fearful, softened expression. There would be no more words from him today. He could comply with simple movement, apparently, but speaking would not be an option for the time being. It would be gasps and sobs in varying degrees of sound and little else if he bothered attempting right now. Right now he looked into curious blue eyes through a shield (of a seemingly endless supply) of tears that dropped and rose at a steady pace. "You could be the poster child for victimhood anywhere. Shame," his rapist smirked, grabbing its still mostly erect manhood and using a downward stroke to collect residual semen and blood from it. Hannibal closed his mouth in a hard line when the bloody, sticky hand rose up to wipe the secretions across it, and his whimper is like a gritty sound of nausea. _Disgusting!_ his mind supplies, _Disgusting!_ , and even the voice in his head is sobbing when he starts to. Never has he been so humiliated in his entire life. His head bobs slightly with hitches when he inhales a stuttered breath through both his mouth and stuffy nose. _Debauched, disgusting, fucked up shell of a creature_ , his mind never stopped, wouldn't help him out of this hell just yet, and did everything in its terribly humanized state to remind him of a time when the life choices he'd made would've repulsed him. _You've been disgusting for so long_ , it hissed, _you deserve to feel about yourself how everyone else would if they knew what you were doing_. And that couldn't be right because he was doing God's work (and a better job of it too), after all, right? A heavily aching uncertainty, for the first time in decades, flooded his mind, widened his eyes and, somehow, made him feel even more naked. He sniffled and hoped it was over before zoning out to the land of his mother tongue and directly into the detailed, chronological events that had molded him into the success story he had grown to be.

At about age four, he was happily jumping up and down atop his bed when he closed his eyes to savor the feeling in the dark. The decision proved a poor one as he fell down, bumping the bridge of his nose on one of his toy trucks. It had bled profusely. In the memory, his nose had just collided against the edge of the finely crafted plaything when a loud crack boomed and a giant flash of white light took over. It startled him out of his mind and into a world where his rapist lay unconscious and bleeding on the floor below and Jack Crawford rushed over to him.

Hannibal's desperate expression plead with Jack to be real, to please please please not be an illusion, to never leave his sight. Jack's gun fell away as his face fell along with it in tiny increments, the sight of his confident friend broken beyond recognition costing him a decent portion of his composure. Hurrying to free Lecter of at least the noose, Crawford met Hannibal's blinking but staring face. The features were all shaped correctly, but they all sat the wrong way entirely. Doctor Hannibal Lecter didn't do desperate, he didn't do pleading, he didn't do utterly childlike confusion or reddened teary eyes and a flushed complexion; he didn't look like this, but here he was all the same, for all the world a severely traumatized innocent either too in shock, or in petrified denial of his savior. If Jack Crawford felt more like a father or older brother when he put a consoling hand to Hannibal's visage, it spoke volumes of the emotions that radiated off of Hannibal, of the frame of mind he'd be in for a custom span of time dependent on the advanced science of his own mind. Jack hoped but couldn't imagine how he could possibly help mend one of the only minds he himself found to be superior to his own, but he reassured his friend - "it's okay, Hannibal, you're okay now" - anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's all I wrote, Hannibros. Apologies for everything and nothing.


End file.
